


little soldier boy

by disgruntled_lesbian



Series: little soldier boy [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hair Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, hair cutting, wow do i have feelings about child soldier sokka having to grow up so fast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntled_lesbian/pseuds/disgruntled_lesbian
Summary: sokka has always been the oldest; he knows that it’s his job to hold them together as best he can.if he sometimes went without food, without sleep, leaned heavily on sarcasm and jokes to keep everyone running, never cries where anyone can hear him; well -- that’s just part of the job. it’s what dad would do.he looks in the mirror now and he doesn't know who stares back
Relationships: Hakoda & Sokka (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: little soldier boy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829479
Comments: 42
Kudos: 559





	little soldier boy

sokka cuts his hair. 

like so much of his life, there’s little ceremony to it -- 

  
  


sokka has always been the oldest; he knows that it’s his job to hold them together as best he can. 

if he sometimes went without food, without sleep, leaned heavily on sarcasm and jokes to keep everyone running, never cries where anyone can hear him; well -- that’s just part of the job. _it’s what dad would do._

after all: “being a man is knowing where you’re needed the most,” was the last thing dad said to him before he turned and left. years later, exhausted and old beyond his years, sokka wants to scream that maybe hakoda’s place had been at home. 

but he doesn’t. 

sokka knows what katara doesn’t -- it hurts, but he’s a man. _he’s ten, he’s twelve, he’s sixteen, he’s seventeen, that’s plenty old enough_ \-- he knows where dad was needed, and he knows where he’s needed. if it meant that he never got a father, that he lost so much tradition that the men held, well -- he knows it had to be that way.

after all, he’s a man -- it’s his job to take care of his village. his village may be small and … more than a little weird, but it’s his nonetheless.

  
  


he loves bato like his second-father, and he takes the mark of the wise after ice-dodging and holds it close to his heart as if it came from dad. he thought he’d feel different after it, but he doesn’t feel any closer to being a man. if they were home, maybe it would have changed something. if they were home, sokka would have cut his hair to grow it out like a man. if they were home, bato and dad would take him hunting, sit with him as he gets his tattoos -- 

but they’re not home. _they’re at war._ so sokka keeps his hair tied back, even after dad calls him a man. sokka stops shaving the sides without ceremony or comment, but that’s as much as he’ll allow himself. sokka’s just exhausted, chasing after his village wherever they go. 

sokka tries to manage as best he can -- everyone else is busy with training, and they can’t afford to stop and take odd jobs, not like he can. he’s a man -- it’s his job to take care of his village. he makes sure aang sleeps, lets toph hold his hand when it feels like the world is falling apart, watches as katara - _\- his baby sister -_ \- outgrows him before his eyes. 

he doesn’t have time to be selfish. 

  
  
  


now, after the war, sokka stares at his reflection in the mirror hung above the sink and he’s not sure who’s staring back at him. 

he’s drenched in sweat, hair sticking to his forehead. it’s the first night since the war ended that he’s dreamed of black snow, and he stumbled into the bathroom trying to catch his breath. clutching at the sink rim with one shaky hand, sokka runs the other through his hair. it’s long and shaggy, uneven and unwashed -- _a childish impersonation of a man’s hair_. 

standing for more than a couple minutes takes all the energy he has out of him; and sokka collapses onto the floor. he cradles his leg in his hands, massaging where the pain flared up with his thumbs. he tries not to think about the sound of bone cracking as he met unbending metal. sokka has to bite back a cry of pain as he shifts to lean against the wall, pressing the back of his head against the wall, his eyes closed.

“hey sokka.” sokka opens his eyes and blinks. dad kneels in front of him, dark circles under his eyes. sokka’s eyes burn with traitorous tears, _he’s a man, he doesn’t cry --_

he opens his mouth and can’t stop the strangled sob that tears from his throat. there’s a hand on his shoulder and suddenly he’s being pulled into a tight hug. sokka buries his face in dad’s shoulder and clings tightly. _he was ten, twelve, sixteen, seventeen, that’s plenty old enough but --_ hakoda holds him tightly in his arms and sokka feels like the child he hasn’t been in so many years. he doesn’t have any words, just buries his face in the soft warmth of dad’s shirt and cries. 

“it’s gotten long.” dad says, combing a hand through sokka’s hair. “although, i guess you haven’t really had time to cut it.” sokka can’t help but laugh at that, and almost misses the soft: “i’m sorry i wasn’t there.” 

“i’m a man, dad. i know that being a man is knowing where you’re needed the most.” dad sighs at this, like sokka’s missed something important; and stands. 

he helps sokka shuffle across the floor to lean back against the tub, resting his head on the rim. dad cards his hands through sokka’s hair, scrubbing dirt and grime out. sokka wants to protest that he can wash his hair by himself, but the moment feels too fragile to break by talking. he watches through half closed eyes as dad rifles through the cabinet, muttering under his breath. newly-found scissors in hand, dad returns. sokka struggles to sit up unsupported by the tub, and braces his arm on dad’s leg as they sit on the bathroom floor. 

this is not how sokka ever imagined cutting his hair. when he was younger, he dreamed of celebrations and family; while they were on the road, he thought about taking a knife and hacking it all off in the fire-nation. instead, he sits on the bathroom floor in the fire-nation palace while dad pulls his wet hair back into a wolf-tail and starts cutting at it. 

  
  


sokka looks at his face in the mirror, and 

\-- he feels 

his hair cropped to jaw length, a small braid tucked behind his ear with one of the beads from dad’s hair. in the morning, bato will tease him, and zuko will run gentle hands through his hair when they get a moment alone, but for now, sokka leans heavily against his dad as he reaches up to touch the bead in his hair. 

he stares at his reflection and he barely recognizes the face that stares back at him; but it feels a little less like a stranger's. 


End file.
